


Take All You Can From Me

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: What If? [14]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27344308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: Spoilers for 6x03. Isabelle lands on the roof.
Relationships: Althea/Isabelle (Fear the Walking Dead)
Series: What If? [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456003
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	Take All You Can From Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a productive day, my friends! Wrote this story up quickly after watching 6x03, and you might be pleased to hear I also have the next chapter of my ongoing WIP written. It just needs to be edited, so keep a lookout over the next couple days for that chapter! 
> 
> Title of this story is from Lillian by +44

She means it when she tells Dwight she’s not afraid to get shot. If Al steps onto that roof and Isabelle shoots her down…well, she’ll be okay with that. At least she can say she tried. After all, it’s the end of the world. If she has to risk death just for the remote possibility that she’ll get to see Isabelle again, she’ll do it.

So Al gets her ass up on that roof. She’s early. Usually is. She takes a seat, hands clasped together between her legs. She stares out at the darkened sky, sweat beading on the back of her neck. She tries not to think about how she might have the fucking bubonic plague, of all things. Tries not to think about how Dwight definitely has it, how he may never get the chance to see his wife again because of Al.

If Isabelle shoots her, Al’s going to die with a lot of regrets.

It feels like a year passes before the helicopter comes into view. And naturally, the second the helicopter is within sight, Al starts to have doubts. Starts to second guess herself. The building’s swarmed with literal plague rats. Maybe it’s smarter to pick up her walkie and warn Isabelle, tell her not to land.

But Al’s gotten this far. Is she really going to throw this opportunity away like that? Al hasn’t seen any rats on the roof, and besides, Isabelle wears that walker-proof getup. She’s better protected than anyone else here. And it doesn’t matter if Al is infected; bubonic plague doesn’t spread person to person. No, Al’s just looking for an excuse to throw this opportunity away, to avoid the one thing she’s been chasing for months.

Al watches the helicopter get closer, squinting as the air swirls around her. The helicopter touches down, and Al stands, attempting to swallow down her nerves. Isabelle could very much step out of the helicopter and shoot her dead without another thought. Throw her off the building for good measure. Then Al will end up like the poor guy from Alaska, splattered on the pavement hundreds of feet below. Maybe someone will come by and check Al’s body for a wallet, wonder which state she came from, try to collect her license.

Maybe that’s a little morbid.

The helicopter’s blades steadily slow down until they stop spinning. The door pops open, and someone tall clad in all black steps out. A helmet obscures the person’s face. It has to be Isabelle. There’s no other explanation, but there is a little seed of doubt in the back of Al’s mind, a little voice nagging at her, telling her maybe it’s someone else. Maybe she’s got it all wrong.

Isabelle draws the handgun at her hip, and Al does the first thing that comes to mind. She rips her beanie off, dropping it to the bench behind her, and she cries out, “Wait!” Al holds her hands out, hoping against all odds that Isabelle won’t just pull the trigger. “Wait!” Al repeats when she realizes a bullet hasn’t ripped through her body yet. “It – it’s me. It’s Al. Maybe you, uh, didn’t recognize me with the beanie?”

Al takes a few steps closer. She pushes her hand through her hair, damp with sweat. Al’s mouth has gone completely dry. She kind of feels like she could pass out. Isabelle stands frozen, gun pointed at Al’s chest. Al takes slow, careful steps, arms still outstretched. She comes to a stop just a few feet away, eyes desperately searching the helmet, the strange uniform, for any sign that this is actually Isabelle and not some other tall woman.

Then Isabelle lowers the gun. Shoves it back into the holster. With both hands, Isabelle slowly lifts the helmet from her head. It clatters to the roof, loud enough to make Al jump. The first thing Al notices is that Isabelle’s hair is long enough to be secured back in a short ponytail. She looks exactly like Al remembers otherwise. Al exhales shakily, suddenly unsure of what to do, what to say. Maybe Dwight was right. Maybe she should’ve given this a little more thought now that Isabelle hasn’t gunned her down.

“Al?” Isabelle finally says. “What are – how did you – _Al_?”

Al just nods, has to press her lips together to try to hold back tears. Last thing she wants to do is cry on Isabelle’s shoulder. That’d be a little embarrassing. “I just – I had to see you again,” Al manages to choke out. “I don’t – I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least _try_.”

Isabelle nods. Some kind of emotion flickers in her green eyes, something Al can’t quite decipher, but she doesn’t really care. Al flings an arm around Isabelle’s neck, holds on tight, forehead pressed against Isabelle’s shoulder. Al gets her other arm around Isabelle’s waist and curls both her hands into fists to stop them from trembling. And then Isabelle’s body relaxes a little. She stops standing quite so stiffly, locking both of her arms around Al’s back.

“You have no idea how dangerous this is,” Isabelle whispers next to Al’s ear. Even so, her voice is still barely audible.

“I don’t care,” Al says into Isabelle’s neck.

“I could’ve killed you.”

“It’s a risk I was willing to take.”

Isabelle nods slightly, tightens her hold on Al. “I can’t stay.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t safe here.”

“Neither are you,” Al replies. She pulls back to look Isabelle in the eye, grasping onto both of her shoulders. “You shouldn’t come back here. This whole place is infested with rats. They’re carrying the plague – bubonic plague.”

“Okay,” Isabelle agrees. “I won’t be back here.”

Al nods. She blinks away the tears collecting in her eyes. She figures there’s plenty of time for her to cry later. Right now – she just needs this moment. Isabelle’s gloved hands hold onto Al’s waist, and for a minute, they just look at each other. Al has run out of words, and Isabelle really wasn’t much of a talker during the time they spent together anyway.

“You can’t do this again,” Isabelle says. Her jaw clenches, like it physically pains her to get the words out. “You can’t try to find me again, Al.”

“You can’t stop me.”

The corners of Isabelle’s mouth curl up ever so slightly. “Yeah, I didn’t think that would work. But your friends need you.”

“I can’t help them right now,” Al admits. “But I – I needed to see you again. I tried to settle for just hearing your voice on the walkie, but I –” Al’s voice breaks, and she shakes her head, releases Isabelle’s shoulder to swipe away the one tear that slips free. Isabelle’s eyes soften, fingers press a little more firmly against Al’s waist.

“You have to be careful,” Isabelle warns. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, but you scaled a building that’s festering with bubonic plague just to see me, so forgive me for not believing you.”

They both laugh at that, and Al’s actually kind of blown away at how dazzling Isabelle’s smile is. She didn’t really do much smiling over the course of their time together, either. Al wants to see that again, wants to hear Isabelle laugh again, wants a thousand things she isn’t allowed to have.

But she has this moment. She supposes it’ll have to be enough for now.

“Are you just going to keep staring at me, Al?” Isabelle murmurs.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little…” Al trails off, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. She slides her hands from Isabelle’s shoulders to her neck, pulls them together. What’s the point in waiting? Isabelle will have to take off before long. Might as well kiss her while she’s here. Al senses no hesitation from Isabelle, feels Isabelle’s hands slip beneath the back of her shirt, the strange bite-proof material of Isabelle’s gloves grazing across the skin of Al’s lower back. Al tries not to let her mind wander too far as Isabelle eagerly kisses her back, tries not to think about removing the odd jacket she’d once worn herself not all that long ago.

There are plenty of worse places to have sex than on a roof, right?

No. Al shouldn’t even let her mind go there. And it seems the second a moan rumbles in the back of Al’s throat – and without Al’s permission at that – Isabelle pulls back. Isabelle immediately leans her forehead against Al’s, panting slightly, holding onto Al’s hips. Al traces her fingertips along Isabelle’s jaw, desperate for any sort of skin-on-skin contact at all.

“How long do we have?” Al breathes.

“A half hour at most,” Isabelle answers. “And we’ve already killed about five minutes. I have to – I have to load up. Report back. Otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

Al lets go reluctantly, watches Isabelle rush to take care of business. Isabelle goes to open a crate Al hadn’t noticed – probably by design, given that the crate looks like it’s just part of the building. Isabelle pulls out a large bottle of pills and slaps it into Al’s hand.

“Take those,” Isabelle instructs. “And if you feel any kind of symptoms of the plague coming on –”

Al reads the label, and – well, shit. She could kiss Isabelle again. Antibiotics. Dwight’s not going to die after all. And maybe the rest of those people won’t die, either. Al’s eyes lift from the label and land on the bottle of beer Isabelle’s holding out. Real beer, not like that shit she drank with Dwight earlier.

“God, I could kiss you,” Al groans. Isabelle grins as Al takes the bottle and pops the cap off, downing half its contents in one swig. Al exhales contentedly and says, “Now _that’s_ beer.”

“I’d have one,” Isabelle says, “but I kind of have to fly back.”

Al nods. “Probably a good idea to skip it for now then. But have one for me later, okay?”

“Absolutely.” Isabelle pulls the remaining six pack out of the crate and sets it gingerly on the bench beside Al’s beanie. “Take that with you,” Isabelle says. Al takes a seat, happy just to watch Isabelle load the helicopter up. Just as Isabelle looks like she might walk back over to join Al, the radio in the helicopter goes off.

“Ground Seventeen, do you copy?”

Isabelle’s eyes close briefly; she exhales heavily through her nose then picks up the receiver. “I copy.”

“Are you clear?”

Isabelle hesitates. “I think we’re going to have to abandon this spot,” she answers. “There are signs of the plague here.”

“Copy. Be inbound in five.”

Isabelle doesn’t respond, and Al’s already on her feet by the time Isabelle hops back out of the helicopter. “You have to go,” Al says before Isabelle can say it herself. Maybe it’s easier if Al says it instead of having to hear Isabelle tell her she’s leaving again. Al always knew she wouldn’t be able to stay.

“You shouldn’t try to track me,” Isabelle says, but her voice lacks conviction. If Al thought Isabelle really wanted her to stop, maybe then she would. But until then –

“There’s a lot of shit I shouldn’t do,” Al replies. “Frankly, you can’t really stop me.”

Isabelle smiles again. Al’s heart breaks a little at the way Isabelle winces. “You know I don’t want to go,” Isabelle says.

“You know I don’t want you to go.” Al pauses. “There’s a lot I could say, but I –”

Isabelle nods, and this time, she wraps her arms around Al’s neck, holds Al against her. Isabelle positions her mouth right beside Al’s ear and whispers, “Save it all for next time.”

Al squeezes her eyes shut, clings to Isabelle until she gently pulls away. Al never has been very good at letting go. She takes Isabelle’s face in her hands, brings their lips together one last time. It’s brief, by necessity. If Isabelle doesn’t take off soon, questions will be asked. But Isabelle smiles against Al’s lips before she pulls away for good. Isabelle grabs her helmet off the ground, never taking her eyes off Al. Al watches her get back into the helicopter, start the engine. Al starts backing away as the blades rotate. Isabelle holds a hand up, and Al does the same, watching the helicopter fly off.

Al doesn’t know how she manages to feel both so fucking giddy and so fucking crushed, all at the same time. She yanks her beanie back over her messy hair, picks up the beer and the antibiotics, and heads back down the stairs.

“Good news, buddy,” Al says. She holds out the antibiotics to Dwight, watches his eyes light up as he reads the label. “Beer lady came through.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I'll respond as quickly as possible!


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